Difficult Conversations

Today was a day of difficult conversations.  I don't know that anyone enjoys having these conversations.  I frankly dread them.  I'm not very good at talking to people who I feel like I am about to let down.  I'm not afraid of it.  I just hope that all of the hints that I drop are enough to give someone a clue before I have to actually talk about it.

I've had a friend living with me since I got here in March.  He lost his apartment after being without work for quite a few months.  He said he just needed a place to stay for a few weeks while he figured out where he was going and what work he would do.  He had been working part time at a restaurant, but they went out of business.  Fast forward almost 8 months, and he is still sleeping on my sofa every night while I'm providing groceries and necessities.  I live in a small one bedroom apartment.  Lately, it's been getting on my nerves more and more to not be able to enjoy my space.  I have to tip toe around to cook breakfast in the morning and on weekends can't lay around and watch movies or tv or cook up a storm unless he happens to go out with friends.  On top of that, he likes to sleep with the tv on so my television has been running 24/7 for 8 months sometimes at high volumes and I have to ask him to turn it down so I can sleep.

He has been working with social services to get housing, but the housing crisis here is real.  The waiting list for most apartments that accept social service money is hundreds of names long.  Although he is qualified, he can't seem to get into something quickly (or slowly given how many months its been).

Today, I finally asked him if he could find another friend to stay with.  I'm hoping he finds one.  He said before that his only option is a shelter.  Is that something I can do with my conscience?  I'm not sure.  I care about him as a friend, but his extended stay here has ruined most of our friendship.

In talking with new friends in and around Brooklyn, I get the impression that this is not uncommon to have someone stay with you for months or years at a time.  I wasn't prepared for it financially or emotionally.

He knows all your dirty little secrets

One of the adjustments for city life as a professional is that I no longer have a washer and dryer in my house at my disposal.  Some apartment buildings have them in apartments, some in the buildings, and mine not at all.

My solution for laundry?  I am not one to spend hours each week at a laundromat.  Instead, I have decided to take advantage of the wash by the pound service that my local laundromat offers.  

There are challenges with that for me.  As a child, when I was taught to do laundry, I learned to not only separate colors, but also fabrics.  This meant doing many smaller loads of laundry instead of one large one.  I don't have control over that, or stain treating when I drop off my clothes.  I try to remind Ken, the guy who does my laundry, if something can't be dried or put things with stains on top (I treat stuff as I put it into the laundry bag).  

Now Ken is a very nice guy.  He always has a smile (except when I asked to take his photo below).  When I asked his name, I couldn't tell if he said Ken or Kim.  He said it was like the character from street fighter.  Ken's not wearing my favorite jacket of his today.  It's a jean jacket with a British flag on the back covered in Japanese characters.  I asked Ken what it said.  He explained that he just thought it looked cool and he is Chinese.  We both laughed at that.  Ken has a rainbow rubber bracelet on his wrist that says pride.  I got one too at pride and wore it for a while.  I pointed his out and he smiled and laughed.  I'm still not quite sure if he is wearing it because he likes the colors or is actually gay.  Not everyone understands that a rainbow bracelet that says pride is for gay pride.  Still, Ken is always pleasant.  There is a very pregnant lady who also works there sometimes.  I'm not sure if she is his sister, wife, a friend, or relative.  She isn't always as pleasant as he is.  She is all about business and moving you in and out quickly.  

For those of you that are new to this, you fill your laundry bag with laundry and bring it to the laundromat to be weighed.  They write out a receipt for you.  This week was close to 30 pounds of laundry (two weeks worth).  

You have to pay extra for soap.  They don't have any soaps that I like, so I just bring my own in a bag of fragrance free soap. 

Almost every time I go to drop off my laundry, there are pennies on the floor.  Today, there was also a guitar pick.  Both will come in handy at some point.  

In addition to dropping my laundry off, I also decided to dry my pillows today.  My mom reminds me to do this weekly, but with the added cost and inconvenience it only happens when I remember and have time.  This is to kill dust mites that apparently live in your pillows and mattresses.  I guess it doesn't hurt.  

I have to remember to check the dryer for candy wrappers next time.  Fortunately it didn't melt all over my pillows.  

Now here is the thing about dropping your laundry off to be done.  The person who does it does know quite a bit about you.  They can figure out that I most likely wear a clean white undershirt every day under my clothes.  They can also guess that I use two towels each week, change my sheets weekly, and most likely wear the same pair of pajamas for a few nights in a row.  They know what my favorite underwear is because it is in the bag every week along with the fact that I like bright colored socks.  They'll soon notice that as it gets colder I switch to black wool or brown wool socks almost daily and don't have any colorful or fun socks that are thick for winter.  

The sad part it that they also probably know that I love pizza and chicken wings since I've been apt to have a stain here and there on my shirt.  Even worse, Ken knew when I was having digestive issues when a medicine I was taking didn't agree with me.  

Yes, the people who do your laundry know a lot about you, yet Ken still smiles and treats everyone nicely when they drop off their laundry.  Maybe it's precisely because he knows so much about each person, or, I'd like to think, it is because Ken treats everyone the way he wants to be treated.  

I noticed when I went to pick up my laundry that there were at least 20 other people who had dropped off their laundry.  

In a few hours, you can go and pick up your laundry all neatly folded.  In fact, I love getting the neat little squares back to put away.  

These neat little squares fit pretty neatly onto my shelves and in my bureau drawers.  It is definitely a worthy investment for me to spend my money getting my laundry done.  I can use the time and energy to do other things that I enjoy more.  I'll never be able to fold a fitted sheet, so for now I'll appreciate that along with these other neatly folded clean smelling clothes.

Today's lesson - choose your investments wisely as some things are worth the money you spend on them.  

Never judge a book by it's cover

It's rainy, gross, and cold.  I have no groceries in my refrigerator and no desire to cook anything (although tempted to make a bowl of soup from the "emergency" boxes of gourmet soup I have on the shelf for when I'm sick as a dog).

I decided to run outside and get some food.  I went in a teeshirt and sweats with no umbrella.  I don't make it very far.  I decide to not try to make it all the way to Sue's place for chinese and to finally try the terrible looking place on the corner.

This is after I see the jewish guys driving around in their truck wishing everyone a happy sukkot with jewish music blaring form the speakers of their pickup truck.  This reminded me of Spain during the holidays or Costa Rica when there would be loud music wishing you happy holidays and encouraging you to come to some party or store.  It's even funnier given that I think 95% of the people on the street are from the islands.

This restaurant on the corner is called Ho Wah.  I always thing it's either a bad Brooklyn accent saying whore or the Al Pacino Line (hoh aww) from Scent of a Woman.  

The outside doesn't entice you to go in, that's for sure.  Rain, cold, gross, dark, hungry…f it.  I guess Ho Wah it is.  

As I get inside, it's even worse than the dirty, ugly outside.  I order food anyway and pay.  There is a steady stream of people coming into the store.  One guy is wearing baggy pants with his boxers hanging out.  He looks drunk.  As the food comes out, he reaches through the counter and takes some hot chicken fingers out of the container and eats them tossing the hot food back and forth between his fingers before tossing it into his mouth.  He then licks his fingers as the lady at the counter gives him napkins and wraps up the rest of his order.  It almost looked as if she was feeding a homeless man.  

As that guy walked out, another guy walked in.  He was wearing a cashmere sweater with corduroy pants.  He was talking on his iPhone six, wearing expensive bucks. He had ridden in on a very expensive road bike.  He had a stack of lottery tickets in his hand.  He was very rude to the clerk as he ordered his food.  He paced back and forth in the store between leaning on the wall and scratching off his lottery tickets against the wall.

After him, a lady walked in dressed to the nines and greeted the owner, June, by name.  She politely picked up her order and asked to add two grape welches sodas to it.  They chatted for a bit and then she left.

Then my order was ready.  I had some delicious spicy sesame chicken with white rice.  I waited to try it until I got home.  It was really worth the wait.  Funny how I had been going blocks away to get chinese food and this stuff was right next door.  I'll have to go again.

As gross as the place seemed, the food was good, the price was right, the location was close, and they had an A from the sanitation department.

Don't judge a book by it's cover…or a chinese food store by its nasty exterior.

A grande (medium) cup of Starbucks cold brew will cost $3.35

Thanks to Sara from work for giving me the idea of figuring out something I could buy with the money found on the streets in one month.

Since August 31, I have found some money every single day of the week.  I wasn't always in Brooklyn, but most of my time is spent here.  I found
95 pennies
6 nickels
13 dimes
3 quarters

I don't drink coffee, but you can buy a cold brew at Starbucks for that.

I'll keep counting and collecting.  It will be interesting to see what can be collected in one year and how much that can buy.

The Barber Shop

I decided I really needed to get my hair cut today.  It was starting to feel shaggy.  I walked from work to a barber shop in the neighborhood that I've been going to get my hair cut.

This barber shop is in the Prospect/Lefferts neighborhood.  It's a mostly west indian neighborhood.  All of the men who work there are from Trinidad.  I've never seen anyone in the shop other than me that is caucasian.  The barber does a great job, he is close to work, and the price is great.  I pay $15 plus tip for a hair cut and a beard shape/shave.  

I find it very interesting to sit in the shop.  I usually have to wait at least for one person ahead of me to get done before I can sit in the chair.  Every few minutes, someone strolls in and bumps fists with all of the barbers.  Most of them are talking on their cell phones and taking calls while cutting your hair.  In between the calls, they chat with each other and the clients waiting.  They speak pidgin english, so I can rarely tell what they are saying.  I can usually pick out a few words.  Most of the conversation revolves around women.  

Curious to me is that approximately one in every four guys comes into the shop high as a kite and smelling like weed.  Today, a guy came in baked and sat down.  He then got up and said he was hungry and would be back.  I laughed and said, "I know why he's hungry."  My barber and the others laughed and said, "we all know why he's hungry."  I can't talk from personal experience, but I'd think getting a hair cut while being high would be surreal and almost unbearable.  It's not something I'll ever try.  

I usually go at my lunch time to get my hair cut.  Every few minutes, someone comes in with sandwiches or salads or chinese food and tries to deliver lunch to the barbers.  It's like the guys doing it are hawking food up and down the street.  I guess that's one way to make extra money.  You order a bunch of food from a restaurant to go and then try to sell it to people in their businesses on the street.  It almost feels like you are in a different country at my barber shop. 

The guy who was high today came back after satisfying his need for munchies and then went over to the corner of the store where he dug through a large bin of what I have to guess are bootleg movies for sale.  I didn't ask.  Other than him, there was a guy with long dreads twisted into two horn like shapes.  He kept coming in and out of the shop.  I asked my barber how he would cut that hair, that I thought you didn't cut dreads.  He said the guy was just hanging out and affirmed that dreads can only be shaved off, not usually cut or trimmed.  Next to him was another guy who looked like he had his share of reefer before coming.  He helped the dreads guy (my barber called him Rasta man) by setting up minutes on his track phone.  

As I was finishing, a guy came in and sat down and started talking.  He was speaking english that I could understand.  He was talking about how all americans judge him and assume because he is Jamaican that he only listens to reggae music.  He pointed to me and asked me if it was true.  I laughed at him and said it must be.  He said…see, americans.  I said I was Canadian, eh, and not to assume all white guys were american.  He laughed.  I'm not Canadian, but was born on the border.  I just hate it when people stereotype.  He was complaining about someone stereotyping him while turning around to stereotype me.  

I left there with a good hair cut and a number of colorful people to think about and write about.  

Temper and Towing

This afternoon, I stopped at a trophy store to negotiate 30 different awards for my office.  I parked in a spot that I thought was legal.  I was in the store no more than 20 minutes.  When I came out, my car was gone.  I popped into the store where I had parked and they said my car was towed.

To say I have a  huge temper would probably surprise everyone except my close family.  I've spent most of my life trying to keep it in check.  I blew my top when my car was towed.  I cursed, stomped, held my breath, huffed and puffed.  

I called the 311 line and the automated system couldn't understand my voice recognition.  That made me even angrier.  By the time I got someone on the line, I was holding back rage and screams.

You'd think it wasn't my fault.  I know it was my fault.  Once I've lost it, I need to cool down even if my anger is irrational.  I don't know why, but that's my reality.

The lady on the phone was pleasant.  She had a thick queens accent, and she said the car wasn't in the system yet.  Go figure, since it had only been towed within five minutes of me calling.  She said it would take up to two hours for it to be entered in a system for me to find out where it was.  I tried to remain calm.

It started to rain pretty hard at this point.  My umbrella, raincoat, backpack, and all of my stuff is in my car.  I stopped a cop on the street and asked him what he knew.  He was very nice to me as well.  He said almost all cars in Brooklyn are brought to the Navy Yard.  I then had to find a cab.  I walked up and down the street.  I finally saw one with the light on, but the back windows were tinted so I couldn't tell if he had a fare or not.  I pointed and he waved at me like he was saying hi.  I pointed again, he waved again,  the third time I just opened the car door to find out that he was waving me into the car.

I arrived at the impound lot still fuming.  I remained calm and the lady there helped me quickly with my car.  She had a smile and treated me well.  The security guard was the only person who said I should probably learn my lesson from this.  I did not snap at her.  I responded that the sign was not clear where I had parked and the police officer had to explain to me why I was wrong.

I had to pay the towing fine.  Luckily they took a credit card given the lack of extra money in my accounts.  She asked me to wait by a sign that says NYPD escort.  I waited in the rain for five minutes. No one showed up.  I had to go back into the lot and the guy (who I had seen from the place I was standing), was just sitting in his booth watching people.

He escorted me and another guy my age (a man in dental school) to our cars.  The added blessing of a parking ticket was also on my car when I got there.  Between that and the grease marker on the side, it definitely added to my oh so pleasant mood.

Paid for parking - $1.00
Cab to Impound Lot - $13.00
Impound Release Fee - $189.50
Parking ticket for parking in a bus stop - $115
Total: $319.50
Getting angry in the rain when it was really my fault - priceless.

Fish Fry

Walking home from the Subway some nights, I stop at a local bodega that has one of my favorite iced teas in the bottle (It's called Plain T Chai).  One night, while I was waiting for a sandwich for dinner (one that I didn't ask for but where the deli counter guy insisted on making something he thought I'd like better than boring turkey and cheese), two girls were raving about the Fish place two doors down.  

Given the appearance as I walked by, I was skeptical to say the least.  One night, my boyfriend and I decided to try it.  We were really impressed with how fresh the fish tasted.  The fries were pretty mediocre, but the fish was great.  A week later, we tried the shrimp.  That too was really delicious.  

Getting fish and chips and shrimp and chips has become one of our little treats.  We will get one order of each and split them.  Last night, they gave us enough for both of us to have two meals.  It went well with some root beer (my boyfriends first time having root beer).